


Dreams

by darcymariaphoster



Series: Letters of Love and War [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, John's POV, Letters, M/M, Romance, War, a bit of angst, but no descriptions this time, friendship between John and Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcymariaphoster/pseuds/darcymariaphoster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Letters". </p><p>After Sherlock gets drafted, John clings to the little notes they exchange until they come no more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 23, 2015

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keroanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keroanne/gifts).



Dear Sherlock,

 

I don’t understand… Drafted?

 

You have to come see me. Please. Just the once before you go?

 

~~This isn’t fair.~~

 

I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I’m so sorry…

 

Love always,

John


	2. June 27, 2015

Dear John,

 

I’m leaving tomorrow. There is no time. Besides, I think it would be a bad idea, really. A torment for us each. I apologise, but I must decline this time.

 

It’s strange… I was able to cut the connections to my emotions before we started writing. It was easy. It was necessary. But after you… There is no clean or defined cut. Panic still bubbles to the surface. Guilt over this letter. A longing to hold you… And an anger that the opportunity to do so has been robbed of us. I want to turn it all off and I cannot. Though, I found that I am no longer terrified…

 

Dearest John, I promise to come home to you. So long as you are willing to wait for me.

 

I love you.

  
Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is Keroanne's Christmas present. I wrote the vast majority of it in one day because I'm a little shit.
> 
> Welcome back, everyone! I hope this story doesn't disappoint anyone this time around. :) Please review if you feel so inclined.
> 
> Happy Holidays~ (It's Yule today, here.)


	3. July 9, 2015

Dear Sherlock,

 

I want to be angry with you for refusing to visit. But it is very you and, in a way, I see your logic. I hate it, yet I understand.

 

There is no question as to whether or not I will wait. You waited for me and so I will wait for you.

 

It’s okay to feel sometimes, Sherlock. It’s what makes you human. Not normal -- you could never be normal. :) Just human. And I like knowing you’re not an android.

 

I’ve been having vivid dreams of us lately. They make me “long” to have you here, holding me tight. I wonder what your hands are like… Smooth because you take too good of care of them? Maybe more rough and callused because of all your ~~failed~~ experiments? Stupid things like this are always in my head.

 

Stay safe. Stay smart. And come home to me.

 

I love you so much.

 

Love,

John

 

PS. I am doing better. See? :P

 

 [Photo](https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1keJeDglI1joW8XTlnb7AmrPRMpfLv73rpKOpGzfuvec/edit)[  
](https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1keJeDglI1joW8XTlnb7AmrPRMpfLv73rpKOpGzfuvec/edit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you have any issues seeing the photo. I couldn't figure out how to get the photo to work on the chapter itself so I hope the link works. The art is actually my mother's, not mine. And no one tell her I actually posted it or she'll throttle me (she gets embarrassed when I share her art). XD


	4. July 20, 2015

Dear John,

 

What do you mean, “it is very you”? What is that supposed to mean, exactly? Am I supposed to be offended?

 

The secret is out -- I am not actually human. I was born from the stars. I am really an alien. You’ve fallen in love with an alien. Now is your last chance to back out.

 

They can’t be that vivid if you haven’t decided how my hands feel. But tell me about them anyway. I don’t normally dream, not since I was a child. The occasional nightmare or fleeting imagery will sneak in but not normally. So tell me about these “vivid” dreams.

 

(And, because I know you’ll ask, I take good care of my hands. But I’ve been burned plenty of times by a wide range of acids and, as a result, I have plenty of scars and calluses, yes.)

 

I am not stupid and I am very determined to return to you. Do not fret.

 

I love you very much.

 

Love,

Sherlock

 

~~(PS. You should see me in my uniform.)~~

  
(PS. You have beautiful eyes. My God, I just want to kiss your face all over. You’re absolutely exquisite.)

 

[Photo](https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/16eOZaJQD3liXiUfptCIZNfuDSyumXQuL8mfo9CQkAOk/edit)


	5. July 30, 2015

Dear Sherlock,

 

No, it was meant more as a compliment. You’re so logical and you’re simply thinking of me and you’re just overall amazing, love. Although, your humour could use a bit of fine tuning. ;D Still, your face is gorgeous enough to be alien.

 

And I’m never backing out.

 

Well, I suppose sharing a dream or two won’t hurt… (By the way, look up “vivid” because it can be sights as well as sounds, touches, and smells/tastes.) We can start with the one last night…

 

In my dream, I had fallen asleep on the floor of my living room. I remember the room perfectly. My back up against that ugly orange-brown 70’s couch, the huge TV across from me on a falling-apart (and too small) entertainment center. The carpet is frankly awful, kind of pinkish. Anyway, I’d fallen asleep with some crap movie playing, and you’d come up beside me at some point and I was resting my head in your lap. Heaven knows when I’d woken up, but I was just talking to you. Nothing in particular -- at least, nothing I recalled when I woke up for real, anyway. But every time you’re in my dreams, you never speak. I think I’d hate it if you did because I don’t know what you sound like and I’d spoil it for myself. It was kind of a nothing dream. I guess it’s like passing the time in my sleep…

 

I love you, too.

 

Love,

John

 

(PS: God, flirt with me. That was the best beginning to something that could have been so fun! Instead, you embarrassed me with your flattery… I’m not that great looking…)

 

 


	6. (timeskip) June 24, 2016

Dear John,

 

I cannot believe an entire year is over already. I feel so grateful, you know that? I’ve made it this far -- what’s another 12 months?

 

Don’t dye your hair. I’m serious. Not even streaks. I love your hair colour. I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy it yet! Where did you even get the idiotic idea?

 

I thought to tell you -- I dreamt last night. If you can really call it a dream. It was more or less just a compilation of images, ~~probably from my week~~ ; your face and the forest as a backdrop, mostly. It’s one of those stress dreams, I think. Yesterday was the first real time that I was shot at. Not directly, mind you; just in general. Dreams bring up important points in ones life. Or so I’ve heard.

 

Anyway, it’s been a hellish week here. I hope your week has been better.

 

Love,

Sherlock

 

 


	7. July 5, 2016

Dear Sherlock,

 

Crazy, isn’t it? How time flies like that… It’ll be over soon. I’m so thankful…

 

Okay, okay. No hair dye. Yet. Maybe in a few years after you see it and have had enough with it. :)

 

So, only images? Nothing interesting or noteworthy -- besides my face in your dreams? It’s only the second time you’ve ever told me about a dream you’ve had.

 

Are you okay, though? Not hit or anything? I worry about you probably more than strictly necessary…

 

It’ s been an OK week. Busy. Started my internship Monday. It’s a lot different than the army and the books definitely don’t prepare you for everything. It’s weird… Blood and broken bones and such don’t bother me much but sickness and diseases are a bit harder to work with… They feel less reversible, I guess. Other than that, too much homework. And where is the time for it??

 

Stay safe.

 

Love,

John

 

 


	8. July 17, 2016

Dear John,

 

Home soon. And home to you. There’s nothing more enticing.

 

I doubt I’ll ever approve hair dye for you…

 

I don’t remember the dream now… I think it was only Images. maybe a theme… I wish I’d written it in full to you. Sorry, Love.

 

John, you worry far too much. Of course I am all right. I promised to return home to you in one piece and that is what I intend to do.

 

Sometimes, your psych concerns me. Perhaps you should see someone? Though, it does make me happy to know you finally got that internship. I know that was a concern for you. Congratulations. :) You’re now more officially on your way to becoming a doctor!

 

Love,

Sherlock

  
(PS: Attached is my new PO Box address. Yes, another move. I feel like that’s all we do…)


	9. July 27, 2016

Dear Sherlock,

 

One day, you’ll stop having a choice on the fate of my hair, I hope you know.

 

If you have another, I want the whole thing. Don’t hold back. I haven’t. :/

 

I don’t need therapy! I’m just fine! Mostly. But I am so thrilled about the internship. Hard as it is already, it’ll be good.

 

What do you look forward to doing when you get back? School-wise, I mean. We’ve talked about it vaguely before but with the date of your return getting closer, maybe you’ve considered it more?

 

How cold is it there? Or maybe hot? The heat wave has washed in with no rain to break it up. Damn miserable.

 

Love you.

 

Love,

John

 

(PS. I’m pretty sure that’s all you do, yeah. This is the 4th one I’ve gotten in the past 7 months!)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mass updates. If I had finished this sooner, I would be able to drag it more. But the main part is set on Christmas so I'm trying to get there by the 25th. Also, seeing as I've been unable to send her gift to her before today, she'll probably need the whole thing here on Christmas to read. :/ I'm really bad with deadlines...
> 
> Anyway, hope you're enjoying so far! Please leave any thoughts or comments or whatever if you feel so inclined. (And for those of you who are just waking up to Christmas Eve, Merry Christmas! :D)


	10. August  15, 2016

Dear Sherlock,

 

I checked the PO Box address you sent me. Maybe I messed up on the last one?

 

Just send me a note if you get this, please.

 

Hope all is well.

 

Love,

John


	11. September 5, 2016

Dear Sherlock,

 

I know I didn’t screw up that last one so what’s going on? Are you okay? Please, please write back. And, for God’s sake, be okay.

 

Love,

  
John


	12. September 26, 2016

Dear Sherlock,

 

Dammit, I’m scared… I haven’t heard a thing from you in three months and I know the news can be slow. You can’t be dead so send something. Tell me you’re angry for some reason or you’ve changed your mind about us. Anything besides being…

 

You know, I’ve fallen madly in love with you and I’ve never even met you. Where are you? Please answer me! Please, Sherlock. I love you. I need you. Answer me! Where are you? What’s happened? This isn’t fair!

 

Love,

John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to everyone! Those of you who celebrate Christmas and are already waking to Christmas morning, Merry Christmas!! Hope you all are having a wonderful season. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have supported this so far and I'm very sorry about not getting to drag this out more. It's my own damn fault for not finishing the story, like, three weeks ago. -.- But apologies anyway. I do feel bad and I hope it's not destroying your enjoyment of this story. I adore everyone who is following this -- even secretly. Thank-you so much!!
> 
> Please leave thoughts and comments or complaints if you feel so inclined. :)


	13. Narritive

I gave up after that letter. I mean, I put his last letter in my wallet to keep it close. I read it often and cried way too much. But, after a month or two, I forced myself to stop thinking about him. Not forget, of course, but, you know, my schoolwork and job were really starting to suffer. He wanted me to pursue my dreams and it would do no good to disappoint him. So I simply set him aside for two years.

 

Life wasn’t bad after that, really. Monotonous, yes, but not bad.

 

Well, until I quite suddenly met Lestrade.

 

It was a normal morning, really. Bright and early, I was in my favourite coffee shop, waiting to order, when a barista called his name. Now, at the time, anything that had any association to _him_ , I’d tucked away. But the name tugged at my memory until I was forced to acknowledge it. I knew that name. So I wandered over to the man who was collecting his drink and casually asked, “Is your French any better?”

 

He looked at me in mild alarm and responded with, “Do I know you?” Almost laughing, I introduced myself. His entire face looked like it may split in two with the grin that spread across it. “I thought you’d be taller, the way he always went on about you.”

 

My stomach flipped at that because, really, what a nice sentiment! After two years, it was still nice to think that he talked about me often. We chatted for awhile, about what we were able to do in the past few years. His name never came up in our conversations. When I mentioned that I was still interning, he lit up again and insisted, “ Let me buy you a coffee. What’s your normal?”

 

I laughed -- a sound I’d kind of forgotten I could make. “What for? It’s not new news, you know.”

 

“It is to me,” he replied, sounding a bit like he was reprimanding me. “So I’d like to buy you a coffee to celebrate. Please?” He had the best puppy eyes. How could I say no to that? Reluctantly, I told him what I normally ordered and off he went.

 

I felt kind of alive in Lestrade’s presence. Not that I’d been “dead” before. The sensation was bizarre and hard to describe, not unlike the moment I’d received Sherlock’s first letter. At the time, I’d kind of been bogged down with the six months I’d spent there already and was feeling hopeless. Getting a strange letter like I had seemed to have reignited something in me because I had slowly been able to change my mindset from “I don’t know how much longer I can do this” to “I can make it”. Talking with Lestrade was giving me a very similar sensation. And, as he walked back to me with a smile, I realized that I was not willing to give it up any time soon.

 

As weeks passed, we did spend more time together. It wasn’t tons as he was now a detective at the Yard and had to be prepared to take off at any second. But the time seemed enough. It was easier to get out of bed every day, at least. The thing was, I had come to acknowledge that even though I _liked_ Lestrade, I had no real attraction to him. Instead, he was my only link to Sherlock that I had left and that’s what I clung to. Luckily, Lestrade himself was good company and a good friend. When I hesitantly brought this up to him (excluding the bit about Sherlock), he nodded with a tight smile and said, “I already knew that, John.”

 

I blinked at him, surprised. “You did?”

 

“Oh, of course,” he replied easily, tension slowly leaving his face. His eyes still looked a bit longing but maybe I was imagining it. “I’m not very interesting, for starters. And even if I was, it would take a lot more to bring you out of wherever it is you hide. I don’t think I’ve thought for even one second that I could compete…”

 

I felt kind of bad and hugged him tightly. But we didn’t talk anymore about it. I don’t think, kind of looking back, that he really meant that he thought of me as anything more than a friend. Instead, he seemed a bit sad for me. A ridiculous notion, really; I was plenty sad for myself.

 

Time passed way too quickly and I soon found myself face-to-face with Christmas week. I was never prepared for the holidays, hadn’t been for _years_. But it showed up anyway, regardless as to whether or not I was ready.

 

It was a few days before the holiday and I was with Lestrade in his living room, watching a crap Christmas movie. “Are you doing anything for Christmas?” he asked suddenly. I shook my head mutely. After a moment, he sighed, “You never did move on, did you?”

 

“Not really,” I mumbled, eyes on the television and an uncomfortable squirm in my stomach. This was the first time we’d really talked about him before.

 

He was quiet for what seemed like a too long stretch and then, sounding as if he were holding his breath, he inquired, “What happened between you two?”

 

Frankly stunned at such a question, I stared at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean? He die…” My voice cracked. Tears threatened the corners of my eyes. I blinked and cleared my throat before trying again. “He died.” I had actually said it. In two years, I had never said it aloud.

 

His brow furrowed as we gazed at each other. Lestrade let out a surprised laugh that he quickly changed to a cough. “Died? Wish I’d gotten the memo. Wish _he’d_ gotten the memo.” He shook his head, his eyes sad as he looked at me. “What gave you the idea he was dead?”

 

My head was spinning, gaze unfocused. “He stopped replying… Four letters in three months. What was I supposed to think?” Something occurred to me then and my heart sank. “What did he tell you happened?”

 

“Nothing,” Lestrade replied frankly. “I thought you two had a tiff or something. He used to mention you in almost every letter. And then he just _stopped_. When he got back, he never said a word about you, like you’d never existed…”

 

It was more instinct, I think, what happened next. I stood and closed the distance, punching him in the face. Immediately after, as he cupped his nose and mouth, I gasped and stammered, “I-I’m so sorry! You’re not even the one I’m really mad at! Are you okay?”

 

He was laughing, sort of, as he lifted his head and let me look at his bloodied nose. “I kind of deserved that, huh? After these past few months of chatting and I never said anything about him…”

 

“I think I broke your nose,” I muttered, slightly horrified. “Oh, Greg. I’m sorry. All this time, I thought he was dead…” He shrugged and stood, going to the bathroom. I sat back down, miserable and guilty and _angry_ \-- that punch had _not_ been enough.

 

When he wandered back in, he was grinning. “That was a ridiculously hard punch, mate. It’ll be quite the story to tell…” He sat beside me and said, “Are you okay?”

 

I scrunched my nose in mild irritation. “Don’t ask me that when I just broke your nose… I think I should go home.”

 

“Hey,” he mumbled and caught my arm as I stood to go. “I wanted to invite you to a little get-together on Christmas Eve.” He pulled a slip of paper from his trouser pocket and pressed it into my hand. “At least think about it?”

 

I glanced at the paper and let out a bark of laughter. “Your handwriting still hasn’t improved.” We said goodnight and I went home feeling extremely overwhelmed and very not in the Christmas mood.

 

_221B Baker Street_

 

XxX

 

In the end, I decided to go because, honestly, I had nothing better to do. A kind elderly lady beamed at me and, without even asking my name, led me upstairs when I arrived. As I stepped into the flat, one look told me exactly whose place it was. I froze and debated whether or not I to simply flee while I could. I wasn’t _ready_. But the woman marched ahead and called, “Sherlock! Another guest!”

 

A deep, rumbling, and annoyed voice answered as he moved toward the main room, “Who all did he invite? I didn’t want anyone to begin…” He paused his rant because he was now standing _right there_ and his eyes were wide as he stared at me in complete shock. Sherlock was more amazing in person -- pale, lanky, all sharp edges, intense, and absolutely gorgeous. I felt my knees threaten to give even as my heart pounded painfully. “John,” he grumbled, voice cracking and making him sound as broken as his expression seemed.

 

He crossed the short space and wrapped me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine in the most passionate and loving kiss I’d ever had. It didn’t last long but then he was peppering kisses over my face between desperate apologies. I _almost_ wanted to punch him. Instead, I mumbled in a shattered voice, “You’re not dead.”

 

Sherlock pulled back just enough to look at my face and my body tried to follow anyway. “No, I… I’m very sorry… I’d sent you the PO box wrong. Switched some numbers. I wanted to write to tell you but I’d lost your address and I was sick; the fever erased some things and your address was one of them. Should have kept the envelopes… I’m so sorry, John.”

 

It kind of made sense. It didn’t make the past two years any easier. But he hadn’t died and he didn’t hate me and that was important. I was physically with him now and that was important, too. Still, I was in some strange version of shock and I only managed to squeak, “You arsehole.” Lestrade laughed somewhere behind Sherlock.

 

I can’t really remember much about the evening, honestly. I know I hardly left Sherlock’s side and Lestrade probably drank too much by the time he went home. Sherlock also handed me two envelopes at some point with the explanation of, “I didn’t stop writing. I just couldn’t send them.”

 

When I woke the next morning, sprawled in bed beside Sherlock, I actually had to reach over and brush my fingers down his spine to assure myself that I hadn’t simply just been dreaming. Then I got up and hunted down the two envelopes. I sat in bed and opened the bulkier one. They were every letter he’d written after our communication was halted. Some were riddled with guilt at his mistake. Others were simply weekly updates. A fully year’s worth of letters had been stuffed into that envelope and I had them all. When I finished reading those, I opened the second envelope. I don’t think I was really prepared for what was inside. And who could have been? I read that letter so many times in that short half hour before Sherlock awoke (and plenty after), I could probably _recite_ it now if you asked me to.

 

I set it aside and leaned over Sherlock, kissing up his spine. He slowly started stirring, looking up at me blearily. Let me tell you how beautiful his smile was, especially when he was half-asleep. I cannot even think of anything to compare it to. “I love you,” I mumbled into the pillow as I curled up next to him again. “And I love saying that, just so you don’t have any doubts.”

 

He hummed appreciatively and said in his deep rumble, “I know. Between that and my name, I was beginning to wonder if that was the extent of your vocabulary last night.” He smirked in amusement as I scowled at him. “I love you, too, of course.”

 

I doodled with my index finger on his shoulder. “When did you write that last letter?”

 

“A few months ago,” Sherlock answered, as if passing it off as unimportant. “I never gave up, you know… I was trying to figure out where you were as soon as I got back. When Lestrade admitted that he’d been spending all that time with you…” He wrapped his arms around me possessively, twisting his body awkwardly. “I took pity on him. You did a number on his face already.”

 

“That was meant for you,” I huffed, blushing and hiding my face in his neck. He only scoffed. For awhile, we were both quiet and content. I honestly could not will myself to move; I couldn’t get enough of him. How had he worded it, so long ago? _A longing to hold you… And an anger that the opportunity to do so has been robbed of us._ Robbed of us… Too accurate. But now that we were finally together, I refused to let him go. “Did you mean what you wrote? We hadn’t spoken in over a year…”

 

He didn’t miss a beat, murmuring into my hair, “Every word, I swear.” He kissed the top of my head and warmth spread through my body from that one point. “I realized, after some time, that my feelings for you never faded. For never meeting you, I had a very strong connection to you. I wanted to write out everything… Telling you would have been preferable but my options were limited.”

 

Thoughtfully, I nuzzled his neck. “Very, I suppose,” I sighed and kissed his throat. “Thank-you, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Sherlock sounded surprised as he inquired, “For what, exactly?”

 

“For saving me,” I responded easily. “You suggested you already knew that, though, in the letter. That you saved me, that is.” I was starting to feel stupid so I decided to change the subject completely. “Merry Christmas. What are we going to do today?”

 

He rolled us over, a rather feral grin on his face. “Well, we have the entirety of our lives to spend together but I think we should start catching up on some lost time. What do you say to that?”

 

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Only if you don’t complain about my ‘limited vocabulary’ again.”

 

“Never,” he agreed and kissed me deeply.

 

And I promise, that was _easily_ the best Christmas of my life. Because, after five years, I was finally spending it with my love and nothing can compare to the first Christmas together -- before family, cases, friends, and gifts got in the way. (Not that I’ve minded those Christmases either.)

 

<3

 

 


	14. Last Letter

Dearest John,

 

I’ve thought so much about what I would say to you, were you here. Sometimes, it’s difficult to consider as you are very not here. But it seems necessary to consider because, one day, I will find you (or perhaps you will find me). So the words need to be available to you. In order to save them and ensure you will one day have them, I’ve decided to write them out.

 

John, my love, I must admit that I am a bit scared. You are the only one who has been able to take me to my core and build yourself into me. You are so important and I’m not 100% sure how that happened. Not that I’m complaining, of course.

 

Instead, I promise to always love you. I promise to never give up on you. I promise to always be there for you.

 

I know, one day, you will be there to wake me from my nightmares -- whether I am awake or asleep for them. And I will wake you from yours. No matter where you go in your life, I will be there to support you as long as you want me around. I will never be unfaithful -- but how could I be when I have you? Everything you have shown me is so… Amazing. I could never love anyone else.

 

There is so much I want you to discover about me. I even want you to know all the bad things, all my mistakes. I want you to crawl into all the dark places in my mind and open all the doors. Everything will always seem better, once you’ve touched them. I simply know.

 

If there is anything you hate in yourself or your memories, I want to make them better. I want you to love everything about and in yourself as much as I love you. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.

 

I will stay by you, care for you, let you care for me, listen, talk, and adore you for as long as you want me. I hold hope close that we will be able to meet before long.

 

Yours forever and always,

Sherlock Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as a sort of present to me, my mum is getting up to do the chores for me in the morning. Which means I wouldn't have time to post these last two chapters before my friend finished opening her gifts and checked it at home. In order to avoid getting yelled at for not having the finished product at her disposal, I decided to post it tonight (at this ridiculous hour in the morning) so that it will be there when she gets to it tomorrow. That is why I didn't wait as long as I'd been anticipating for the last bit. :P
> 
> Anyway, not my favourite work I've ever produced but we all know the reasoning for that so we're just not gonna get into it. Instead, thank-you to everyone who has (or will) read this. I am so appreciative. And I'm so very glad to see that some of you made it back for the sequel. I DO hope it wasn't a disappointment! Thanks for your support through this little series. Who knows if there will be more (maybe my default for when I fail at writing gifts again next year??). And if they show up, I hope to see you there. 
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy your holidays. (Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Christmas, Happy belated Yule, and the many more that I know I'm missing but the site I'm staring at is inaccurate about so please feel free to enlighten me.) Much love to everyone! 
> 
> AND MERRY CHRISTMAS, KEROANNE. I hope you enjoyed this!! I really hope there was enough fluff to give you an extra cavity~! :D
> 
> Please leave thoughts or complaints or comments or whatever if you feel so inclined. :)


End file.
